“Oh, he’s got the fever, ma’am,” said Matlack.
“Fever!” exclaimed Mrs. Archibald, dropping her work in her lap.
“Oh, don’t be frightened,” said he; “it is only the fishin’ fever. It don’t hurt anybody; it only keeps the meals waitin’. You see, we are pretty nigh the first people out this year, and the fish bite lively. Are you fond of fishin’, ma’am?”
“No, indeed,” said she; “I dislike it. I think it is cruel and slimy and generally unpleasant.”
“I expect you’ll spend most of your time in the boat,” suggested Matlack. “Your husband rows, don’t he?”
“He doesn’t row me,” said Mrs. Archibald, with earnestness. “I never go out in a boat except with a regular boatman. I suppose you have a larger boat than the one that young man is in? I can see it from here, and it looks very small.”
“No, ma’am,” said Matlack; “that’s the only one we’ve got. And now I guess I’ll go see about supper. This has been a lazy day for us, but we always do calc’late on a lazy day to begin with.”
“It strikes me,” said Matlack to himself, as he walked away, “that this here camp will come to an end pretty soon. The man and the young woman could stand it for a couple of weeks, but there’s nothing here for the old lady, and it can’t be long before she’ll have us all out of the woods again.”
“You can come in,” called Margery, about ten minutes after this conversation; and young Martin, who had not the least idea of going to sleep in the boat, dipped his oars in the water and rowed ashore, pulled the boat up on the beach, and then advanced to the spot where Margery was preparing to put away her drawing materials.
“Would you mind letting me see your sketch?” said he.